Page 33 of Shadow Man

“What if there’s a better proposition on the table now?”

“We can leave right away.” She reaches for her purse on the nearby table with shaking hands.

“No.” The word rumbles around the room like breaking thunder

“Yes!” Her retort is lightning—bold and bright, and fleeting.

“Vi, don’t.” I go to grab her arm, but it’s her who shrinks away from me this time.

“You’ll find no loyalty there, American Girl,” says Fernandez with a chuckle. “Your new friend sold you out, if you haven't already guessed.” He raises his shot glass in a mocking toast as my world implodes, all over again. “Viviana offered you up to me like an animal. You’re her down payment. Welcome to Colombia!”

My head whips back to Vi again, but she can't meet my eyes.You fool, Anna. You trusted instincts that were rusty and weak.

“What…Who—?” Suddenly it hits me. “Oh my God, did you know who I was all along?” I back away from her, my heart beating so fast my ribs are aching. “Is this why you befriended me? Was it all to gain my trust? Is he already in Colombia?”

This seems to reap everyone’s attention. Heads turn. Backs straighten. My cries were shots fired wide, but they’ve still managed to hit the board.

“And who might you be, American Girl?” asks Fernandez coolly. “And who is arriving in Colombia to claim you?”

“No-no one.” I backtrack so fast I’m tripping over my words. Becoming a cartel pawn is one major fuck-up in life I don’t plan on choosing.

“Secrets, secrets,” he tuts, emerging from behind the bar.

Vi shoots me a worried look, but I can’t even acknowledge it. I’m so angry with myself. She sold me a lie, and I swallowed it down like the stupid woman that I am. I let her in when I should have slammed the door in her face and left her in that fucking restroom.

“Did you even have a busted zipper?” I demand, her betrayal like acid pouring onto my wounds.

“Please, Anna…” Her face is distraught. “I’m trying to make it right. If I’d known about the other stuff—”

“Fuck you! When did you slip up and knock your humanity out?”

“Quiet!”

The fist crashes down again, wiring both of our mouths shut.

“That’s better,” purrs Fernandez, prowling over to us. In Vi’s defense, she tries to move in front of me, but he pushes her away roughly and into the arms of one of hissicario. The guy slams her face down onto the counter and pins her there, one elbow crushing into her back as she kicks and struggles for freedom.

The sudden blaze of violence is like a gun going off in my head.

“Fernandez, don’t do this!” she cries. “Not her! Not her!”

“Gustavo,” murmurs Fernandez.

I watch in horror as thesicarioholding Vi pulls her up briefly by her hair, and then slams her face down into the counter again. She doesn't scream, but as she lies there, masking her agony with soft ragged gasps, the blood from her broken nose drips off the edge of the polished wood and splatters on the tiles below.

“Tell me: who’s looking for you, American Girl?”

His voice is like a caress. I stand there, stock still, as he stops in front of me, dwarfing me, intimidating the hell out of me, and runs an ice-cold finger down the length of my cheek.

“I lied,” I whisper, turning my head away. “There’s no one looking for me. I have an ex-boyfriend who won’t leave me alone. He follows me. He stalks me. He’s back in the US. He…” I trail off, lost in my own fear. This scenario is all too familiar to me—the terror, the dread, the uninvited helpless, hopeless feeling inside. My memories are scratching at the woodwork now, blowing foul breath under the door.

“Gustavo,” murmurs Fernandez again.

Gustavo smiles with grim pleasure as he kicks Vi’s cowboy boots apart and drags her white dress up around her hips.

“Get off me,” she croaks, repeating it again in Spanish, fighting harder than ever to free herself but the bastard just laughs and smashes her face into the counter, again and again. Her struggles stop after that. She’s not moving. He knocked her out cold.

Holy shit.

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